


Preschool Ain't All Fun and Games

by yes_i_ship_it



Series: Depressing Short Stories [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Daddy!Cas, Edited to contain graphic depictions of violence, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Feels galore, Florist!Anna, Grief/Mourning, I cried writing this, M/M, Mr. Fizzles - Freeform, School Shootings, Sorry Not Sorry, characters listed in order of appearance, daddy!dean, depressed!Dean, if you cry just know I did too, teacher!Cas, this is really friggin sad okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yes_i_ship_it/pseuds/yes_i_ship_it
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guns don't kill people. People kill people. But give a gun to a person and a hell of a lot of people end up dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 2013

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anc/gifts).



> I sobbed while writing this, no joke.

"Nap time!" Castiel announced to his group of preschoolers. 

A collective "awwww, I don't wanna" was returned, and he had to fight back a smile. When these kids--his daughter included--entered high school, they'd sell their souls for an in-school nap time. But for now, nap time equaled non-playtime, and it was obvious that it was resented. 

Five minutes and two almost-tantrums later, all twenty eight kids were lying down, aides walking down the aisles to make sure they were at least attempting to sleep. His daughter, Charlie, lay next to him. Castiel slid off his chair and sat next to her. As he gently stroked her hair, he began to hum "Hey Jude," her favorite lullaby. Charlie always made either him or Dean sing it to her before bed.

The classroom phone rang, and Castiel waved Garth, one of the three room aides, off and answered it himself. The office rarely called his room, so it must have been important. 

"Mr. Winchester speaking," he said, looking back at the kids.

"Stranger on campus. He's armed. Lock down immediately," came the hushed voice at the line. 

"Shit, Hannah, really? Where is he?" he replied quietly. 

"Just entered your hallway. You're my last call. Cops are on their way," she informed before hanging up.

He dropped the phone and ran over to his desk and began rummaging through the drawer where he kept his keys. As he sorted through the key ring as quickly as his shaking fingers would allow, the aides approached him.

"Castiel, man, what's wrong?" Garth asked. 

"Armed stranger on campus. We have about forty five seconds before he tries our door," he replied in a shaky whisper.

He ran to the door, dodging preschoolers on his way, and heard Garth announce, "Nap time is over! Come over to the corner for story time with Mr. Fizzles!"

Castiel opened the door to lock it from the outside and found himself face to face with a gun.

He didn't even get a chance to scream before he was shot in the head. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The man behind the gun entered the room slowly. He stared at the gaping adults and children who were awake. 

"Stay there and don't make a sound," he said, addressing the terrified people huddled in the corner.

He made his way over to them, shooting every sleeping child in the head on his way. He was merciful that way, granting his victims a quick death, most of them not even aware of the horror taking place.

The man smiled at the remaining three adults and dozen children before speaking again. "Line the children up on their knees in front of me. A word out of you and I'll shoot you where you stand."

One of the children started crying loudly. The next second, his blood smeared the wall, floor, and people around him.

"I said not a sound. Anyone else wanna test me?" he challenged, raising his gun.

One of the women said in a whisper, "Please, why are you doing this?"

The male aide whimpered, "Bessie, don't."

Their blood joined Castiel's and the children's.

The remaining woman quietly lined up the children across the room, silent tears trekking down her face. She joined them on her knees and closed her eyes, mouthing a prayer for herself and everyone else, dead and alive, that fell victim to this evil man.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly.

"My dear," the man breathed on her neck, "I'm the devil."

With a smirk, he killed her. The man walked down the row, shooting each and every child in his wake as police sirens wailed louder and louder.

By the time the police arrived, he was the only one left alive in the room. He raised his hands in the puddle of blood he'd created. With a smile on his fave, he welcomed the officers' bullets.

*****

"We now interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you breaking news from the local Roadhouse Elementary."

Dean reached for the remote and turned up the volume. Cas, his husband, was a preschool teacher there. Their daughter Charlie was in his class. 

"An unspeakable tragedy has just occurred here at Roadhouse Elementary," the reporter announced. "Just a half hour ago, an armed man walked on campus and proceeded to shoot his way through a classroom of preschool children."

Dean stared slack-jawed at the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. "Please, God, don't let it be Cas' room," he whispered. "Don't. Please, God, please."

"Among the deceased are twenty eight children--"

"Please, God."

"--three room aides--"

"Please, God."

"--the teacher--"

"Please."

"--and the shooter--"

"Don't let it be Cas's room."

"--whose name has just been released to us. Luke 'Lucifer' Morningstar had recently been released from prison on good behavior."

"Just don't let it be--"

"Castiel Winchester was the teacher and the first to be killed. He was in the process of locking the door when Lucifer shot him."

Dean screamed. He felt numb, as if the world had been pulled out from under him. He was floating. Sobs wracked his body as the reporter kept reading names.

"Also dead are aides Bess and Garth Fitzgerald and Joanna Harvelle."

Deans heart threatened to rip out of his chest. He choked on tears. 

"Deceased students include Cassandra Robinson, Bela Talbot, Charlene Winchester, Gabriel Milton, Michael Milton, Raphael Milton--triplets, I presume--,"

Dean didn't listen any longer. He couldn't, not really. Not when his daughter and husband were gone. 

He drank and cried himself to sleep that night. And the next. And the next. And every night for weeks afterward. There was a gaping hole in his heart, and alcohol helped numb the pain of losing the two loves of his life.


	2. May 2014, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. This chapter got away from me so I moved the giant shit storm of feels to next one.
> 
> Also, if you read chapter one before I changed the rating to explicit, it's because I added stuff. It starts with Cas opening the door and ends with the *****

Five months and a liquor store later, Dean was still a ball of grief, misery, tears, and alcohol. He barely left the house, and on the rare occasions that he did, it was only to pick up food, booze, and, once a month, two dozen roses. For Charlie, one in any vibrant color he could find; for Cas, one in white. Dean was so lost without them. He swore to himself that he'd never forget how beautiful they both are. Were. That simple correction was enough to reopen the floodgates and Dean found himself on the kitchen floor, bawling his eyes out. 

He stayed there for what felt like hours, sobbing even after his throat and gut ached from the effort. Crying quietly, he slowly stood up, using the kitchen counter for support. The night before Cas was... slaughtered..., Dean had fucked him over this very countertop, leaving Cas' throat and ass sore from exertion. Now, well, even then Dean didn't want anyone other than Cas. Not even his hand. He just... he needed Cas. 

Dean opened his eyes and let them focus on the picture perched on the counter. It was of him and Cas on their wedding day. Cas looked so beautiful, so in love, exactly like Dean remembered. He traced the grainy image of Cas' smiling face lovingly, reverently. Funny, how Dean could remember so vividly something that happened so--

Shit. It was today. Today! God fucking damnit.

"I can't fucking take this anymore!" he screamed, punching the wall next to him.

Shaking, he looked over at the personalized calendar on the fridge. The one with his, Cas', and Charlie's pictures on it that Cas had made him for Thanksgiving because, 'Screw waiting for Christmas. If I want to give you a present, Dean, I'm going to give you a fucking present.' Dean smiled through his tears at the memory and flipped through the months to May. He put his fingers over Cas' graceful handwriting on today's date, as through through it, he could touch Cas himself. Put his hands and muss up even more that wonderful, perpetually messy hair. 

Dean whispered Cas' written words aloud to himself, 'Happy anniversary, Dean. These ten years of our marriage have been the best years of my life. Love always, Cas.'

The fucker had written it six months early, but thank God he had. Because if he hadn't, Dean wouldn't have anything of Cas to hold on to today. It was as though Cas had written it knowing that he wouldn't be able to say it in person.

"Oh God, Cas, I miss you and our little princess so damn much," he whispered back to the calendar, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to stop his tears. 

He stood and stumbled to his and Cas' bedroom, making sure not to look at Charlie's door, lest the sight set off a crying session. Again. Dean changed into a fresh set of clothes, carefully avoiding Cas' meticulously organized and dusty side of the closet. He washed and shaved his face and brushed his teeth in an attempt to make it seem like he had his life under control. 

Today, he had a visit he had to make, different from his monthly tributes.

Today, he was gonna celebrate his tenth anniversary with his dead husband. 

Today, he was gonna be okay; he was gonna pull through for Cas and Charlie.

Okay, that last one was a lid. But how could he be expected to be okay when the greatest joys in his life were now angels? Life just wasn't fucking fair. It was a known fact. Dean just didn't understand why. 

Castiel James Novak Winchester. Charlene Mary Winchester. Beautiful, wonderful, kind, intelligent, loving, funny, a thousand other adjectives Dean couldn't think of without a thesaurus in front of him, and gone way too fucking soon.

The only explanations Dean could come up with for why were that God simply couldn't wait to take them as angels, because they were to pure to be left to be corrupted in the human world, or worse, that God didn't exist at all and Dean was miserable because of some psychotic son of a bitch with a guns and nothing good would ever come out of his suffering. He'd never have a tickle fight with Charlie in heaven, never kiss his husband again. No. He refused to believe the second. It may just tear him apart. 

"Dean Winchester, pull your shit together, man," he muttered, mopping his eyes and running his had down his face, pulling on his bottom lip.

He planted a kiss on Cas' image in the wedding photo before leaving out the garage door. He opened the driver's side door and sat in the seat of his car before staring into space and completely zoning out. 

A couple minutes later, Dean came back to his senses and, with a quick shake of his head, reached over and pulled the door shut. Damn, he could use a drink. He opened the garage door and turned the car on, slowly backing out of his driveway and heading to Anna's Flowers across town. 

Dean always went to Anna's. It wasn't that her flowers were cheaper or smelled better or anything like that, but because her last name was Milton. The final name Dean actually remembers being read off by the reported. Anna had lost all three of her little brothers that day. She understood what he was going through and never pushed him. She never questioned how he was doing or how much he'd been drinking. She gave him his space and helped him pick out a color she thought Charlie would like that month on her grave. 

"Hey, Anna," Dean greeted the florist as he entered the shop, the bright yellow wallpaper temporarily blinding him like usual. 

"Hiya, Dean! I know this isn't your normal pickup day, so what can I do for ya?" she asked, seemingly unfazed at Dean's random appearance. 

"It's our anniversary. Tenth. I wanted to do something special, ya know?" he replied, looking at her pleadingly, willing himself not to cry. He didn't know why, but he'd always felt like he had to control the waterworks around her. Well, maybe he did. 

The first time bed come in, a week after the shooting, he'd started sobbing in front of the roses. Anna had seen him and cried along with him for hours. Dean didn't want to put her through that again. 

"Gotcha. Have you tried talking to him? I talk to the boys sometimes. Makes them feel more here, like they're not that far away. Your angels are watching over you, Dean. They'll hear your prayers," she told him, smiling sadly. 

"Thanks, Anna," Dean said, pulling her into a tight embrace. 

After she let go, Anna rung him up for a dozen red roses and a single purple daisy. Dean couldn't help but buy her something. 

"You spoil her rotten, Daddy Winchester," Anna said, shaking her head. 

Dean nodded, unable to speak as he remembered Cas saying, 'And that, Charlie-bear, is the story of how your daffy spoiled you rotten.'

He choked back tears and payed, nodding at Anna before he practically ran out of the store and into his car. Taking a deep breath, Dean set course for the cemetery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read anc's The Bright Side of Life, which she wrote as a prequel to this fic, you need to. Now. (Please)
> 
> P.S. Brace yourself for next chapter.


	3. May 2014, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried at least seven times writing this

"You can do this, Dean," he said to himself, gripping the flowers tightly.

He walked through the cemetery, reading each gravestone. Dean knew which graves were his family's, but he couldn't face them yet. He always needed to prepare himself for the names etched into marble. Walking down the rows of gravestones, Dean recited the names of the dead in a sort of chant, distracting him from the names he dreaded most to read.

Dean knelt first in front of Charlie's grave, setting the daisy down and clearing his throat. "I miss you, little princess. Don't be too hard on Dad up there, you hear me?"  
His voice cracked; a single tear ran its course down his face. "Oh God, I miss you so much, angel. I love you. Always."

He forced himself away and moved over to Cas. Dean prepared for the worst confess-your-feelings, no-I'm-not-okay, one sided conversation he'd never wanted or expected to have. Honestly, if he didn't have a fucking panic attack every time he saw a fucking gun, he'd have eaten his own bullet five months ago.

So instead he found himself here, at a cemetery, clutching a bouquet of roses and staring at his husband's name carved into stone.

"Heya Cas," Dean started, Castiel's name blurring through tears. "God, where do I even start? You know I don't do too well with the whole speech-giving stuff. Well, uh, it's our tenth anniversary, babe. I wish I could spend it with you." 

Dean's voice cracked, and he paused with tears choking him. He wiped them hurriedly and set down the bouquet, lest he accidentally impale himself in the eye with thorns.

"Why, Cas? Why'd you have to go?" he whispered. "Why did that man have to take you both away from me? I miss you. God, I miss you so fucking much. I miss holding your hand in the park and watching Charlie play. I miss watching Star Wars with you when I'd just end up watching you 'cuz you're so damn beautiful. I miss Valentine's Day and making a pie together. I miss everything. I need you, Cas."

Dean broke down, sobbing and clutching his husband's gravestone. He cried for what felt like hours, still clinging desperately to the marble, wishing he could hold Castiel himself. 

When he finally composed himself, Dean continued, "Cas, baby, you were amazing. You were beautiful and kind and patient when Charlie and I threw tantrums. I'm so sorry I haven't talked to you sooner, I just--I couldn't. I hope there really is a God, Cas. 'Cuz you two deserve all heaven can give. I hope he took you to be his angels and that you're watching over me. Please, Cas, I need you. I'm--I'm so lost. Just one more miracle for me, babe. Please."

Dean slowly stood up before kissing Cas' name. With a whispered 'I love you,' Dean trudged back to his car, drove home, and went to bed. As he fell asleep, Dean could've sworn he felt Cas' fingers running through his hair.


End file.
